


× wнo ιѕ ιn conтrol? ×

by SheOfWrittings



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheOfWrittings/pseuds/SheOfWrittings
Summary: There are silvers and there are reds, that's the truth the kingdom had always known. Every single one of them had been living under that truth and what it made them, based on the color running trough their veins.Silvers were important. Reds were not.And, than, a girl had bled red in front of their cameras while bearing the power of lightning when she was supposed to die, ruining the lie she had wore as mask so long. She hated her for that, yet, she was thankful for what it had brought to her life. Who it had brought to her life.He kept her safe. He kept her warm.  He cared and she cared back. And she would do whatever her own self could to be loyal to him.Even if he would never be able to give her what she wanted the most."I'м noт ѕтυpιd, ғor мore yoυ wιѕн мe тo вe. I won'т ғιgнт ғor ѕoмeтнιng yoυ don'т own anyмore тo gιve"





	1. × Capíтυlo 1 ×

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [× Who's in control? ×](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/232789) by Albatraoz. 



> Hello, guys!  
> This is a translations of one of my newest fanfics. I am just soooo deeply in live with the book and sooooo utterly pissed yet still fangirling over Maven. Dammit, did Victoria screwed my life with that blue-eyed-Calore-fuck.
> 
> Anyways, I do hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Ps:. This fanfic was originally posted on Fanfiction.net, but I've deleted it and switched it to here as soon as I could!  
> PS 2:. Unfortunately, I'm not very pontual or have the time to write a long chapter every month, because life is getting me busier at the secimd, but I do try to post every couple of months and will translate it in the next day of the post on my original language.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

"Ireane Harмond, 19 yearѕ old, Carмιne Hιlѕ. Occυpaтιon: υnĸnown. Blood тype: doeѕ noт apply. Geneтιc Mυтaтιon: мaтrιх υnĸnown. Reѕιdenтιal dιѕтrιcт, 5тн Sтreeт, нoυѕe 97"

Another name of the list. Another New Blood that Mare wouldn't be able to reach. Another red and silver he would either kill or toy with. Another one to fall until she gave up and returned to him, and he paid no mind how many bodies he would leave behind in a moribund trail. He was King now and a thousand of corpses wouldn't weight even nearly close to how good his glory felt.The only thing missing was his betrothed, the one thing that belonged to him, the one thing Cal managed to take away because hadn't been planned. Adapted? Yes. Planned? Hardly.

Anyways, it didn't mattered. He would get her back and enjoy the thoughts of pain and deep sadness the 'great Cal' would be tortured with, knowing that the little red girl was back in Maven's claws.

\- Ptolemus! - he called, raising his voice to a demanding royal tone as he entered the throne room, fully aware of the cringing his voice had induced the two red servants standing by the door they had opened into. Before he could form an opinion about that, though, the magnetron was already standing by his side having hurried himself off the royal retinue behind him to try to equal their paces respectfully.

\- Yes, your Highness? - the man asked, eagerly. Maven had no need of his mother's abilities to know that Ptolemus Samos wished nothing but to please the, so he thank, naive boy King. Recently orphaned, urged into capture a lightning red girl and his murderer brother, kept on a leash and ordered by his whisperer mother. For what? Just some bigger title and some more medals as ornament to his military clothing.

Nevertheless, even if he was just blind enough to not be able to tell that, he would have to learn quick. Mother wasn't around anymore, having locked herself on that prison with those New Bloods whose life he had spared and mutations had took her interest, disposing of the many others she deemed useless and found fitting to do so. This when he didn't done that himself, of course. But he couldn't help the relieve of having freedom enough on his own mind, not needing to keep that many walls to his every little thought for his mother might feel like checking upon her ofspring's mind at every single opportunity she felt such need. Oh, yes.

He got his composure back, after all, he still needed to answer the Silver he had called for by his side.

\- I am in a oddly good mood today. - he confided, on the same tone as before but with a clear edge of amusement tied to it, a wicked cheeky grin tugging one corner of his lips upwards as his cold blue eyes shone dangerously - Warn your men that the throne will accompany them on their next hunt.

He saw by the conner of his eyes the Samos' face grew pale, paler than the usual, even to Silvers. Disappointment and nervousness crossed his features in quick flashes he was quick in hide.

\- I will, your Highness. - he assured him, on his serious general-like voice - Is there anything else I may assist you with?

\- No. - was the dry and dull reply that left his lips, as he waved dismissively - If I see the need in calling you again, I will do so. We leave at midnight.

Bowing his head respectfully, Ptolemus went to reunite with his equally eager sister, Evangeline, who seemed anxious to question him about his talk with the King. She tried to flash him an enchanting gaze, batting her eyes in his direction. Maven didn't acknowledged the gesture, preferring to pretend he hadn't saw it at all, missing the light frown and the slight indication of a pout threatening to form on the blonde beauty's lips as he did so, turning around and making his way to his chambers.

The Silver guards already standing by his door bowed their heads at his presence, but, to him, they were faceless guards as he walked in the King's, no... **His** room, without even a gaze to look which House did they belonged to. Maven's feet stopped without his consent, leaving him in the middle of the chamber staring at the mirror wearing something and standing on a space where, months ago, his father would have called his own.

But Tiberias VI Calore was no more. Tiberias VII was his murderer, an exiled prince, soon to fall. And Maven Calore was the crowned King who stated back at him from the mirror, his face bearing none of his true emotions, just as the Silver Court's way demanded.

A fatherless, brotherless, queenless, heirless King.

Yet, a King. And that was all that mattered. Or at least, so he was told.

His hand travelled carefully to the top of the crown on his head, flinching lightly at the faint pain that spread trough his body when the touch of his fingertip over the pointy metal were rougher than he had planned. His light blue orbes gazed as one drop of his own silver blood ran down it until meeting his dark hair, as if it knew better about who it belonged and it was rebelling against him, every bit of him. Even his blood.

Maven quickly snapped himself out of those thoughts. " _Mother is not around, but that doesn't mean you can be a fool. Don't you dare grow a heart now_ ". His icy gaze glared down at his sore finger, closing his hand with a sceptical sneer. " _Let the crown rebel against me. The Scarlet Guard as well, along with some disposable silvers. I can handle it. I handled my father and brother, let the one who still lives rebel as well. I am the King, now, I am the one giving the cards and the orders. And they have no say in the matter_ "

Silently, he ignored the voice whispering in the most well guarded conner of his mind that there was somebody else rebelling. Someone important, well more important, politically and emotionally. And he was the one who turned her against him.

 _Mare Barrow_.

"You were never mine and I was never yours"

Her words had been knives. Deep. Precise. Hurting him more than any blade Evangeline could throw at him. He could still remember when the same lips that said that with undisguised bitterness had been kissed by his. They were a taste of heaven, if there was one, and probably the closest thing to it he would ever get.

"I loved you. I trusted you. I needed you. And now I'm going to die for it"

When his mind shot him this, he winced. The feeling of had had her in his grasp, not long ago, in Ocean Hill. So close. He could had taken her and have her right there. But when one of her eyes became red with the blood of a vein he had damaged he backed up unconsciously, finally seeing her state as he would had seen when he was a prince that she cared and loved. The, then, inexistent groans of pain worried him off the edge. But of course, none of that mattered. Cal had seen none of that, but he had seen a perfect moment to attack. Once again, he had taken her from him.

His growl of annoyance was poorly kept in His throat. "All this could have been solved under the Bowl of Bones. Made could had said yes and have become my queen, and Cal could have fought alone his way to his death!" She could still had loved him, trusted him, needed him. If she had just... Chosen him. They would be married by now. But Made Barrow was always the most tough headed person he had ever met.

"Cal betrayed me, and I betrayed him. And you betrayed us both, in a thousand different ways"

Cal. Cal. Cal. _Always bloody Cal._

\- Enough! - he growled to himself, grasping the crown on his head and slamming it against the crystal table next to him. He had almost forgotten where he was.

To distract him from his heavy breath and attempt to calm himself he gazed the table he so had happened to slam. It was made of reddish crystal, with golden details carved on the dark metal of its base. It had being cracked and scratched and was now stained with silver blood, but not broken. Such a bad metaphor for the moment.

_Red refusing to break under the strength of his rage and the weight of the crown. Maven took a deep breath._

He was overthinking it. Making a storm of a glass without even a single drop of water.bIt was just a table, and the crown was just a crown and his sore hand was just his sore hand. Not everything was a metaphor.

In a fluid movement he left the crown behind, walking towards the enormous bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head and kicking the shoes away from his feet. He didn't care to pick them up, as he would had as a prince. A King didn't needed to bow to anything, not even to catch something from the ground. There were thousands of red servants on the castle, they could do that.

His bare chest greeted him in another mirror inside the bathroom, and, in the back of his mind, Maven asked himself how in hell did his father handled with all those never ending mirrors? The ones in his bedroom panicked him as a child, his face always staring at him, from every conner at every time he passed trough them. Uncountable Mavens that could replace him at any moment just to prove how useless and disposable he was. Now, they were just bearers of bad memories and a terrible taste for decoration.

He needed that bath, tho, and he had it. Never facing the mirrors, his back always turned from whoever it was who would stare him back. A King. A Prince. A child. A traitor. A forgotten son. _A shadow_.

Under the warm water, he closed his eyes, allowing himself a last moment of weakness and reflection before he turned his mind back into the cold, sharp weapon it was supposed to be.

He couldn't afford any regrets. Not that night. Not any night.

Furthermore, he had a New Blood to chase.


	2. × Cнapтer 2 ×

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello omce again!  
> Sorry it took so long, but, it's all been so rushed over here, even this chapter got affected by it. I's not the greatest one. Is short and not as intense as Maven's but I do hope you enjoy it and, I promise, you'll be compensated!
> 
> Right now, as soon as I have some free time, I shall be uploading my Game of Thrones Fanfic (which is my most treasured and well written of all, once I have a co-writer), a series of one-shots I've been working on of Hamilton (I'm so obssesed! I need that next album like... Right now. Why is the Mixtape only out in December?! Lin is not faaaaaair~) and Chapter Three (which has not been posted yet, neither here or in Wattpad or Nyah, but, I guarantee, is the best one of the fic so far. Also, another thing I want earlier: Victorua, why don't you publish King's Cage already, is not faaaaaair~)
> 
> Anyways, sorry once again and enjoy! Feel free to comment, call me out at something or leave some kuddos!

The cold weather was oppressing, making the exhaled breaths of those who were needed to awake earlier leave their lips and take a cloudy white form against the yet dark sky.

The grumbles were quiet, joining the sound of crushed ice and earth under many poorly dressed feet walked over it, clutching to their coaches for warmth and trying to shake off the inviting state of sleepiness. All of them lived and worked in the village next to the most valued wood of Norta. Those were lignum vitae, a complicated name for a expensive tree that was basically what kept the economy of that pitiful village alive. She couldn't care less about the official name of the place, but she was sure no one called it like that. For everyone, that was Wood Hills.

Yet, curious gazes wouldn't be lessen by sleep and cold weather, and it didn't took long before the first pair of eyes gazed through the window and met her eyes. That was it for her, as she allowed the rough cloth of the curtains to slip through her fingers and blind the outside world to what rested inside. A freak.

Her shoulder pulsed with pure pain and she was quite sure she had dislocated some bones, yet, nothing she couldn't handle. Ireane quietly turned to face the one-roomed house she lived in. Bathroom, bedroom and kitchen all mixed together, one in each corner. Her bed and the small chest with her clothes and shoes rested on the wall on her right side. A old table and an untrustworthy chair along with the basic to a kitchen leaned against the opposite wall. And, between them both, there was a small, cracked and pitiful to look bathtub along a sanitary vase, counting only with a ripped curtain to give her privacy from no one, but for her comfort.

The heavy sigh broke it's way through her lips as softly as she would have never expected, as she walked towards the chest with a quiet solemnity, as she bowed to open the treasured arc. A dark blue long sleeved shirt, plane black pants and comfortable, way too worn out, boots with a thin protection of cotton inside, useful to keep her warmth inside.

That's all she has to do, actually. Dress herself and walk toward the woods. It doesn't make it any less difficult, of course, being a woodcutter is all about brutal strength, which was even more connected to anger, and, anger was something that reds had lots to give. She more than many.

Silently, she got on her feet, gazing at the small dying fire on the centre of the room, circled by rocks that kept the floor from being burned as well. Ireane found funny how dying fires were the prettiest, with yellow, red and orange flickering through it, fighting fiercely and desperately to life, much like a red would. She wished she could do more for it. But there was no more wood inside to feed it and she had never seen a Calore in flesh and bone to know how their burning worked.

As a useless sign of respect, she stood by for the next five minutes, it's last minutes. This was a warrior recognising a warrior, both lonely, both helpless and, yet, one little barrier was the only thing keeping them to burn the world down.

***

With a pained groan she held tighter to the axe as she swung it over her should to take impulse enough to give the movement more strength and impact. The wood was chopped in half under her blade and Ireane accepted that result as a small victory as she sucked in a sharp breath, her hand travelling to the still sore shoulder.

 _Shit_.

The woman blinked away the small tears forming in her eyes as if they were nothing much. Nothing to be acknowledged. She pushed the perfectly cut in half pieces of wood into her cart, tiredly, along with her axe, hopping she could call it a day afterwards. Pushing it past her work colleagues, she bared every stare and every attentive glare upon her skin with quiet temperance. That was nothing new to her.

She stopped finally, letting her cart go by the side of a fat man of demanding eyes and silver strands appearing through his black pitched hair, barely combed into decency, with one brown eye and one green one. He was around his 60's and when he looked at her over his planchet, partially startled by the loud noise her cart had made, he offered her a lighthearted chuckle and an open smile that left for perfect examination the gap between his two front teeth.

\- Harmond, always ma' best employee. - his voice was dripping with a familiar and friendly aura, smoothly speaking with his accentuated southern accent. Clicking his tongue approvingly, he crossed his arms, gesturing to the cart with a small tilt of the head - Are ya' quite done for the day, than? That's already the double of what ya' needed to bring me, you know? - a greyish eyebrow rose to probe a

\- Well, I have to pay for the day-off, Mac. - she replied, grinning jokingly back. Ireane was quite the hypocrite by judging old Macquenzie's accent, when she herself had quite a strong one - It's getting dark and cold, plus, I don't wanna be a show-off.

\- Afraid is too late for that. - he chuckled once again, gazing past her to the others behind her back, still working, gazing her through the corner of her eyes with reproving glares and unfriendly anger. As always, she said nothing, she didn't moved at all, not even to acknowledge their hateful gazes, only sighing and lowering her eyes for some few seconds.

\- Yeah. - she mumbled, crossing her arms with a small wince of pain spreading through her nerves. Shit.

She didn't expected anyone to notice, nor to care, but, as always, Mac's mismatched eyes caught it like.if they were hawk's eyes, glowing with a quiet concern she had not seen in ages, since Aaron. Poor Aaron who had been too young to die. Poor Aaron who had not stranded one small chance against his disease as much as he would not had a chance against that knife if she hasn't been there for him. Young Aaron who always seemed had the more sense if the two of them, as much as he had the most innocence (if not all of it. She couldn't remember a day she had been innocent. Maybe she had just been born with the solemn realisation that she would die one day floating upon her head).

Aaron who hadn't deserved to die.

\- How's that shoulder of yours? - Mac asked, cutting her thoughts without even knowing. His accent faded tremendously when his voice assumed a serious tone, and, right now, it was almost non-existent. - You've barely taken enough time to it to heal and is already back, swinging this dammed thing upon your shoulder.

Ireane couldn't help but smile widely, with her heart as opened as she could allow herself. It was touching like, sometimes, Macquenzie could sound all fatherly and protective towards her. She guessed he was the only one who would care if she disappeared or was found dead or many others plausible things that red and silver alike could do to her just for a whim. He probably would seek justice as well, until it became too dangerous and he either step back by himself or was talked into doing so her.

\- I'm great. - she winked at him - Two days at home can do wonders to a wounded shoulder, trust me. - she wiggled her fingers playfully as if she could and was casting a magical spell, that got a chuckle from both of them - That and I have to pay off the time I’ve spent back home, staring at the walls grow older.

\- Sorry, kid. I find it hard to believe - he smiles softly, shaking his head before reaching  to the pile of wood on her cart and picking three pieces, tossing it towards her as she catched with some awkwardness, gazing between him and the wood with a inquisitive glim - You already got me thrice as much as you would get in any other day. - He explained, with a light shrug and an amused chuckle waving her off with the half-forgotten planchet, before returning to write on it - Now, go on, girl. I’m handing you pieces of the most expensive wood on the country to burn in your fireplace. If someone finds out about it, I’m fired or dead.

\- I don’t get it. - she mumbled confusedly, holding the wood closer to her chest and admiring the many natural patterns that it contained before rising her weirdly coloured eyes towards him - If you know the consequences, why would you do that for me?

\- Because you’re not a bad person and people mistreat you much like silvers mistreat us. - his bluntness is like a slap across the face - We’re selfish and we have flaws, yes, but…  We care. Or so we should. - he points at her with the old pencil as he says: - That’s what sets us apart of silvers. - his words are heavy and, for a moment, as they sink deep, Ireane is torn between crying or hugging him - Now go. I need to get back to work, Harmond, and I mean it.


	3. × Cнapтer 3 ×

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was a feisty one, but he was a puppeteer.  
> His curiosity most often turned into greed.

Reds whispered, bowed and hurried out of the way with fear glistening on their eyes. The sight of a silver was enough to bring a shiver down each of their spines. Now, a full battalion and a crowned monarch? That was nightmare fuel.

The man guiding their way was trembling and seemed at the edge of passing out. Maven didn't cared. He only longed for finding this Newblood and seeing just how much potential she had. If he was unsatisfied, well... Everyone knew how the story would work out. His want would be law to be set at stone. His enemies would be corpses, to be dumped anywhere or cast as example. That was not his way, but the silvers' one. His way would be more moderate in the use of such abundance of brute force and less lacking of brainy strategies to persuade the red masses to keep on their places, to live and die on their places and be thankful for that. His way would offer treats, gifts, so the red folk would see it as blessings from the Gods they were once considerate to be. Actual medicine, some Healers from minor houses, allow some of the food of the feasts to be given to them if the silvers had no more stomach to eat it, maybe even make electricity, water and other things free in holidays and allow them to not work on those days. The ones who weren't strictly needed, surely.

A Royal birthday, wedding, Coronation... Those would be much more appreciated if so was the case. Maven's stoic expression let his lips slip into a smirk. He could see the confusion, fear and perplexity in the eyes of those surrounding or merely watching him. It was like seeing ivory spontaneously crack. No context, no explanation. It just cracked before your eyes and you had to accept this.

The man stopped and Maven rose hjs eyes, unimpressed, towards the forest. A short woman, thin and holding to three pieces of wood. She didn't seem too much of a threat, but no viper seemed dangerous as it laid among the grass.

Her eye rose towards his soldiers and the villagers, with the calm of one who recognises their fate but has no fear of facing it, for some seconds before dropping the pieces of wood that she held and vanish in a blue, black and orange blur.

\- A swift... - he mumbled under his breath, intrigued and disappointed at once, raising his voice sharply to snarl the most obvious of answers - Catch her!

Two blurs with the colours of House Iral passed by his sides, the wind gust making his cape oscillate in midair for a moment. Before he could blink a second time, the redheaded girl was thrown on her knees before him and his arrogant smirk already pulled the conner of his lips while raising his hand to deliver her flaming end... Although, the black eyes barely cared to his hooded figure, running over all the Silver's faces, cornered, before staring finally at one and frowning at whatever great effort she was doing. Soon, one of her arms fred itself from one Iral Guard, knocking him down, se and throwing the other against a house, which got terrified yells from the Reds and a step back from most of the Silvers, Maven included (what greatly annoyed him). The red girl jumped back to her feet, now, displaying not the agility of a swift or the strength of a strongarm, but the abilities of a magnetron, disarming all by pulling their guns and weapons by throwing them towards the empty part of the forest, never caring for the silver drops staining some of them or the screams of pain.

_Ireane_.

Well, that would be quite a name worth remembering.

She was feisty. She had the spirit of a fighter and she kept on it defending herself with all the arsenal her blood laid at her feet to use. Her tactics were lacking, almost laughable even, but no less deadly. Someone could shoot without taking proper aim countless times but this wouldn't make the bullets any less capable of taking a live. She was somehow like Cal; he needed to defeat her with his head.

So he observed her, like a predator watches over his prey, seeking for patterns on her steps, on her defences, on her attacks. He only needed a small opening to be as deadly as a viper. He narrowed his ice-blue eyes. There it was. She always blocked an attack giving two steps back and attacked with one step forward, all of the focus that would usually be used to keep her acutely aware of her surroundings were largely consumed by those actions as she realised them. Her guard was down when she needed to use her powers. Maven stepped forward in a calculated movement, sending a flaring inferno towards her, seeing her focus swift to the new attack as she started to absorb and try to dissolve it. That's when Maven grabbed the inhibitive diamond cuffs from a guard by his side and jumped amidst the extinguishing flames, cuffing the thin wrists, hearing her scream helplessly as the pointy edge on the inside diged into her flesh, letting blood stain the crystalline material as he got a good look on her.

Wild eyes, filled with despair, revolt and the wanting of dying on a fight instead of whatever it was the fate he had deemed to her. Her irises were a confusing mixture of grey, brown and green, and he could swore the change of light could accentuate one of them even more. Her hair was orange, messy and filled with what he could only presume were a thousand knots. The color vaguely reminded him of the first flame she had been able to conjure; it hadn't been big nor imponent, nor had it being a small but promising inferno, but a flame, with the size of his palm and the spirit of a shy wildfire. He wrinkled his nose disgustedly as he felt the thin coat of dirt and sweat over her skin. Reds were gross people sometimes. She was pale, thinner than would be recommended (not that she had a choice about it). His eyes kept being attracted back to hers, so he fought back no more before raising a hand to touch her face.

Ireane didn't seemed fond of the idea, pulling her face away, trying to step away, but a quick pull of the handcuffs made her cry out in pain, glaring her nostrils like an angry bull as she resigned to the position he had put her on. His thumb moved softly to clean the blood coming from the broken nose. For someone who fought with strongarms, a broken nose and some bruises were more than just lucky. Of course, he didn't fail to notice how she held one of her shoulders lower, immediately linking it to an older injury before focusing on the red blood once more.

She was way more powerful than he thought. A ability like hers, when well trained could easily overtake Mare's. What a pleasant thought that one, to have the deadliest weapon of the chessboard again. His mother had her newbloods, his brother had his newbloods... It was only fair Maven got some. They couldn't have all the fun.

\- What an intriguing creature you are. - he mumbled, a grin taking over his lips with the ferocity and the dangerousness of a puppeteer who's getting his way.

\- I am not a creature any more than you are a man. - she spat, almost roaring. How could she run away? Well, that was obvious: she couldn't. How could she hurt him? Oh, for that, there were ways. That crown of his was quite sharp ended. Maybe, if she got her hands on the damn thing she could slit his throat and see his silver blood before she died. It would be more than the world deserved of her.

\- Haven't you heard, little red? - the dark humour took over his voice, growing deeper and more threatening despite the polite tone, sliding his fingers over her skin and placing it over her throat. He could burn her flesh and watch her die if he wanted. What could anyone do? He was the King. And people didn't seemed to be that willing to save her anyway. - It seems like _I am a monster._ What does that makes of you?

She was ready to yell curses, to try to hurt him, to scream what a scum he was. A despicable boy king who feed on blood and thought himself untouchable. She would prove him wrong. Silvers were no gods, even wielding powers, for reds began to wield them too. That beautiful reign was about to crumble under his spoiled feet.

\- Harmond! - she heard the worried cry behind her back, horror taking over her soul in a tight cold grip on her heart as she looked over her shoulder to the old man about to get into a fight against people he could not win. - Get out of my way, silver rats! Harmond! Girl, are you alright?!  - he yelled again, desperate to get an answer out of her, even if he knew she was not that alright. His mismatched eyes could see her.

_Mac_.

Her eyes analysed the silvers in front of him, panicking at his recklesness. Oblivions. No, no. They could blow him up at any minute, actually, they were more than eager to do it now, she realised. They would kill the only person she cared for before her eyes just to set an example. She turned, eyes widened and letting her pride drop to her feet as she plead to his cold, uncaring eyes:

\- Please, mercy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!  
> Vacations are nearing, so you can bet on new and more constant updates plus new fanfics!
> 
> Now, let me grab a mug of tea before diving on this mess that is Maven's mind!  
> Bye~


	4. × Cнapтer 4 ×

\- Mercy? - Maven repeated, a brow raising pointedly as he elevated his hand in the air, stopping the oblivions before they could harm the old man, signaling for them to only hold him down. - Why do you plead for someone else's life and not your own?

\- Please. I'll give you whatever you want. - She said, ripping her pride to shreds as she falls to her knees in submissive begging. In a small act of rebellion, the smallest she allows herself at that moment, she does not answer his question. - Just let him live.

\- Anything? - Maven replies, grinning a bit, clearly way too amused with the situation, how the balance is shifting the power back to his hands. It's good being in control again. It feels good to be the one to call the shots again. - You could start by answering my questions, don't you think, pet? - He demands, his eyes and edges growing sharper and cold, hellishly so for a man who is a living representation of fire. She cried out as the diamond cuffs were pulled harshly by him, slitting open even more of her flesh. Mac protested on the background of her pain, spitting thousands of swear words that would most likely have gotten him killed hadn't she had something the King wanted. Tears filled her eyes, but she would not shed them. That poor excuse of a man was not worth her tears. He wouldn't be the one to break her. - Why would you plea only for his life when I am more than likely to kill you both?

His face was so close to hers that Maven could see every bit of raw contrasting emotion hidden on her expressions, the overwhelming want to spit on his face and end his life, the non-comprehensible restrain she had imposed over herself on the intuit to save a life. Not hers, tho.

He had seen Mare try to save people, always wanting to make all better, always painting herself as a hero. The reds looked up for her. She was their hero, in some extent, but he was not fooled; Mare Molly Barrow was human. Which meant, she could feel as worse as she wanted to after all was done, she would sacrifice people if it meant keeping herself safe. She had risked Lucas and got him dead. Many soldiers of the Scarlet Guard had died thanks to her blind trust in him, but many had died saving her as well. Red servants had been harmed and hurt because she would not surrender. Mare wanted to save people, but she also wanted to save herself.

\- Because my life does not matter. - She answered, reluctantly, staring back at his eyes. No flames he could conjure would match her rage, no moment of his on the shadows would match her resignation. - People hate me wether I live or die. No one would miss me, all people who loved are dead. - She explained shortly. Her father was dead, her mother was dead (might Hell still be plaguing their rotten souls) and so was her brother. Her chin tilted to the side, indicating the old man. - But he cares, and people care for him. - Maven's eyes followed to analyse the man unconsciously, for a mere second, try to see what she saw. He only saw a old red man who would meet his death in three to four years without his aid, by the exhaustion of work or the fake pleasures of a bottle. - I will do anything to not loose him. I can't loose anyone else.

The game was too easy. It unfolded so fast, so swiftly. All the pawns were in their place and his newly acquired horse was already on it's diamond halter, having given him both it' weakness and what to held against it as spur. Again, his hand waved in the air, his soldiers freeing the man, not without pushing him away rather violently, reds replacing them in the task of holding him away from the scene. The silvers reorganised themselves, expressionless, reading themselves to leave at his command.

\- You will follow me and obey me. No matter where, you don't get to make questions. Get up, you're nearing to pathetic already. - He said, raising her to her feet with another pull of the chain, ignoring the intensity with how the blood flowed from her wounds, the sounds of pain she emitted and the empathetic reds holding their breaths at his cruelty. - Good girl. - He said smirking, nodding to the guards behind her back, a command she couldn't quite comprehend from.where she stood. One of his hands ran through her hair, pulling it away from her neck, intimate and invasive enough to make her want to puke all the little food she had eaten. - You don't get to speak if I don't ask you to. You don't get to talk with anyone else but me or, occasionally maybe, someone I sent to give you a message. - Finally, he looked back at her face, his hand tightening into a fist around her hair, tilting her head slightly to the right. - Your life will be mine, to deem whatever I think best, my wishes will be your law. - He smiled, dark and dangerous, his thumb caressing her cheek as he imprinted the same care and love he had on his acts with Mare, only more blunt about his true character than he had ever been to the woman he loved. - Do you still think your friend worthy of all this sacrifice?

Of course. She already hated life enough. How badly could he make her wish for death that she had not already? Ireane swallowed dryly, her strange eyes switching to the face who desperately tried to stop her from sealing that deal with the devil.

\- Can I say goodbye? - She asked, weakly. It was all the confirmation she would give him.

Maven chuckled, the pride of another battle won filling his chest and inflating his ego, covering his next word with thousands of layers of mockery.

\- No.

It was the last thing Ireane heard when a hand was placed over her mouth suddenly, muffling the shriek of surprise and panic she had emitted in response, and a long needle pierced the side of her neck, injecting a substance that made her whole body feel heavier as she fell back, defense less, at the arms of one of the King's many soldiers.

\- _Back to the castle_. - She heard, vaguely yet matrixed, as if in an echo chamber. - _We're done here._

\- _Kid! Give her back! Harmond! Harmond, can you hear me?_

\- _Sir, we should tend to her wounds. The loss of blood may kill her._

\- _Mac, stop, it's pointless to fight against the king._

\- _Well, girl._ \- A voice whispered humourously next to her. - _You just sold your soul._

Lethargy overtook her slowly, blurring her vision and numbing her senses, all her grasp around reality being washed away by the waves of confusion as she was dragged. Unconsciousness followed blissfully quicker, leaving her to dream of a feral shadow of a smile, a sea of red, fancy wood and the cruelty of a pair of blue-ice eyes.

 


End file.
